Spanish Psycho
by astraladversary
Summary: Vega wore two masks. The first was his familiar ivory white which served to protect his face. The second was his face; the idea of beauty that hid his twisted psyche. Ficlets and pieces of our favorite Spanish ninja. Will contain eventual oc/canon. May or may not develop into a legitimate storyline. For now I just want to let this little muse out. Crossposted story
1. cerdo feo

Beauty is lost on most men.

He could see it in the out-of-shape businessmen with thinning hair, bleak tastes, and no semblance for aesthetics except for what they wanted in their women. It was hideous, what they did. Black market deals – drugs, weapons, the selling of sex... that was what happened when one sacrificed beauty for money and power.

Even more hideous was that even 'good' men looked at this and turned away. They were complicit in the ugliness that surrounded them, too weak to do anything about it.

It was nothing like the service to society Vega Antonio de la Cerda provided. His mission was to purge the ugliness from this Earth. Why, he should be venerated as a god for his generosity. A visionary, an artist, at the least. He gave another glance to the guests in his home - not his ancestral home in _Barcelon_ of course. This was his mansion in Madrid, where most of his Shadaloo business was conducted under the guise of polite society.

Vega, of course, must keep up appearances. Despite his growing disdain for money and power, there was no use to point out some hypocritical flaw in his actions of living in his prestigious position . One in a station such as himself cannot simply disappear.

These parties do become nauseating sometimes. From crime lords tied to Shadaloo, to the tasteless Spanish nobles, base in their concept of beauty but only present due to the amount of money they had. Other types of cattle present who sought excitement in depravity shook hands with them freely. There were a few artists present as well, their patrons parading them and their talent around. What the artists could make were often beautiful, but their blind eye to the corruption of this world was lamentable. When Vega walked past a group of them, he heard their conversations regarding pieces that were recently auctioned, what family commissioned what, and what collectors said to them. He wished, for a moment, that these artists were portraitists standing before Vega, capturing his essence like a classical painter would have done for his ancestors, his worthy visage placed upon a canvas as opposed to these meaningless, post-modern statements.

He glanced behind his shoulder at the group, his eyes landing on one that stood silently and motionlessly among them, turned away as if trying to disappear- even when the group was approached by a lucrative collector. Perhaps that one understood the futility of the art that the famous sensationalized, wishing for talent to emerge independent from money.

And then there were those with no money or talent at all, somehow present by the fluke of having some kind of connection.

There was a pig in particular he held nothing but contempt for as soon as he laid eyes upon him. A giant brute of a man, with pasty skin and uncombed, thin hair which sat quite hideously upon his cranium, too tall and pointed for the rest of his bloated visage. He could perhaps liken it to the sagittal crest of a primate. Perhaps he _was_ a primate, pretending he had a place within polite unironed shirt led to uneven collars that seemed to be in battle with his fat neck, where the length of his hair sat just past as well, a pudgy face forcing out a voice full of untrained words.

He didn't care who he was. Perhaps from his unflatteringly large presence, he was someone's guard. He stuck with a certain group for much of the party so far, so he clearly had his allegiances. But all the while, he did not appear sufficiently disciplined to be anything like the fighters Vega faced off against. Vega did not mean to compliment his past prey when he thought that any of them could vanquish this pig.

The elite were truly desperate.

Vega watched the pig squint his baggy, beaded eyes, noticeable to Vega even through the half-mask that Vega wished covered the pig's entire face. He followed the direction of the gaze over to a full-figured, bewitching woman with a tablet in hand, assisting her own employer. Vega would have ripped the creature's lecherous gaze away from the woman himself if the slob's boss didn't quietly reprimand his lack of attention. Vega picked up a glass of wine from a passing tray, sampling it but finding himself unable to ignore the ugliness around him for now. He looked back up from his drink only to find the beast looking right at _him_.

Vega could not suffer this any longer. Now him... he might not even enjoy killing. It was more of a sense of duty to end this wretch. Vega wondered why he hadn't already found this target before... He must be slacking off. He approached the animal with caution, no mirth in the smile he put on when he neared him and a few of the other guests. He had caught the creature in the midst of him explaining that he got to where he was through befriending the right people - and some of the wrong people. A trial and error that struggled with his well-being, or such nonsense. The pig lamented the difficulty of his life, quite unprompted. For a man so desperate to improve his station, he lacked any sort of tact needed to gain him any allies that weren't similarly pathetic.

Vega himself did not need friends. Instead, people of importance came to him based on his own merit. Lesser men felt the need to take social advantage just out of self-preservation.

When the guests noticed their hosts, they cordially brought their attention to him ... except for the pig, who continued to speak, before trailing off with "or just ignore me." _Por Dios,_ even swine sent to the slaughterhouse squealed less than this bloated manatee!

But, Vega needed this out of the way.

"How do you enjoy the party?" Vega questioned. It was taxing to remain pleasant.

Other guests elected to speak up before the pig did.

"Food, wine, entertainment... you always knew how to throw a proper party." A man with a boorishly plain suit and bow spoke.

"Indeed. You never fail to impress, Mr. La Cerda." A woman who looked much more impressive in her gown and feathered mask added eagerly. "Speaking of entertainment..."

"In due time, my dear." Vega responded with a smirk. "I have something special planned. I would not disappoint my guests."

The 'plan' was... improvised.

The pig stood there discouraged from speaking a single world in response. How pathetic. Vega caught the pig looking at the woman who last spoke, then to the floor. A sullen look of... was it jealousy? Inferiority?

 _I cannot bear to be in your presence, you ugly creature. You will garner no sympathy from me_ , Vega thought.

"What about you, sir? Is there something lacking?" Vega pressed him, who towered over himself. It did not intimidate Vega in the slightest. He's taken down large beasts before.

"No, no, it's fine. How are you doing, man?" The pig replied. His casual words were meant to mask his anxiety. Vega wanted to sneer. An act of desperation from his prey... The nobles around him could sense such vulnerability as well, almost circling him. The pig simply did not belong here, try as he may.

"Regretfully, I'm not convinced." Vega replied. The pig looked at him with confusion.

"What do you mean? I said the party is fine." The creature elevated his voice slightly, as if he tried to keep a handle on staying calm but couldn't fathom being disagreed with.

Vega continued in an even tone. "No doubt there's something you'd like to change. Perhaps you'd like center stage in our little party? You've caught the attention of these around you. I'm more than curious to see how you'll entertain us all."

The pig looked down at him with a squinted gaze. Vega knew he hit a sensitive spot. This creature was not bold by the slightest, but he could not turn down the opportunity to pretend he was.

"I don't know how I'll do that." He laughed uneasily. "I know I'm a big loud guy, but-"

"I will pay you, sir. 800,000 Euro to fight me."

"...Huh?"

Vega had to stifle a disappointed sigh. The nobleman had pride in the way he spoke. Eloquent. Concise. With the right enunciations. So, for the pig to imply he did not catch Vega's words were insult upon insult. Especially since the pig seemed to enjoy the sound of his own squeals.

"You did not hear me wrong. 800,000 Euro, for us to spar on that very stage." Vega gestured to a platform at the center of the party that was but a white, elevated circle. That was his canvas, and it would become true art later.

Even ugly pigs bled a brilliant crimson.

His guests halted in their little chats and turned attention to their host. Surely this was the special entertainment Vega mentioned. Some of them knew of his cagefighting matches in the Mesón De Las Flores, where they dealt in illegal business as they watched The Scarlet Terror punish the fighters fool enough to face him. As such, they knew the outcome of this little show. Vega chose his prey, and he'll give him a magnificent send-off into the afterlife.

"Well, for that much..." The man's eyes gleamed. Evidently he was tight on money, and could not refuse the offer. "But are you sure? I _am_ bigger than you."

"So you've said. And so I see." Vega drawled, no longer with any airs. Unlike the pig's bloated body, his fat concealing whatever muscle he could have had, Vega was lithe, which was not to say he wasn't muscular. While he wasn't bulky, he was incredibly toned. His shoulders and chest were broad, leading to a quite slim waist and down to built thighs. It was fitting for a body sculpted by the gods to tear apart this eyesore.

Vega did not ask, but the pig went into detail about his own size and strength.

"...I _threw_ a guy meters away just with my hand. And I'd be hard to knock over." He was insisting on having everyone hear this. But this was a crowd of people much more interested in results than they were interested in words. Vega sighed and raised his hands slightly above his shoulder to clap them.

As if on cue, the crowd parted to allow passage to a blonde woman with a square but slender jaw, plump pink lips, and brown almond eyes behind in a pink half-mask. She presented the steel talons to her employer in a mahogany box.

"Your claw, sir." Alma Meshram was one of his assistants with a specialty for being bystander to Shadaloo business. That meant she beheld bloodshed with a blank smile. That meant she has no qualms upon bringing in this pig's cause of death.

"Thank you, dear." Vega slid the bracer over his left wrist, smiling calmly at his opponent. He knew the pig couldn't back away. All eyes were on them - and the pig was so baselessly banking on his height and weight advantage alone against the slim nobleman. A mistake many have made. "Shall we begin?"

"W-wait. Why do you need a weapon? I thought we would just have a little match?" The pig gasped.

"My friend, are you perhaps suggesting that a mere set of talons will send you running? Do you imply your employer chose poorly?" Vega chuckled.

"This is crazy." The pig hid his gulp.

"Coward!" A voice called out, breaking the silence of the anticipating crowd and causing a sea of murmuring to break out. Vega did not turn to look at the source, but when the pig did, his face scrunched into an expression of offense, rage, and... perhaps a bit of desolation.

"Do you, perhaps, want a weapon?" Vega, ever the gentleman, offered.

The pig shifted to a clumsy stance, the weight on his feet uneven. That was a no, apparently. When the pig lumbered forward, his fist moving in, Vega hardly needed to duck all that quickly to land a kick to the pig's shin, causing him to lose his already regrettable balance and stumble forward.

Vega was quick to take advantage of this. With great strength and agility, Vega flipped backwards in an arc, his heel connecting with the pig's lowered chin and sending him backwards with a heavy thud. Vega landed on his feet, completing his somersault with a reserved bow, directly in contrast to the mad grin he flashed, much to the thrill of his guests.

"Now, now, hold your applause." Vega gently shushed, a finger against his smirking lips. He watched as the man picked himself off the ground, mask hanging halfway and revealing more of his hideous countenance to Vega. He tried to squint through his tiny eyes, nose scrunched and jaw hanging open. The nobleman's smirk immediately dropped. How DARE he look at him like that? Did the pig find his own ugliness to be some kind of inconsequential joke?! Vega did not wait for his opponent to make a move this time, lunging forward with brilliant force behind his claw, slashing into the man's chest. The tips of the steel went through his clothes, the pig's skin tearing around the three talons ripping into his flesh. Vega winded his arm back, his claws drawing blood which stained into the pig's shirt. He looked at Vega in shock. As if he could have never imagined this happening to him. As if he accepted the challenge thinking he could prove something. Tears welled in his eyes.

What that earned him, of course, was Vega slashing his claw against his face. No sympathy, he repeated to himself. Crimson flew beautifully before it fell to the stage floor in wonderous splashes. He sliced more. More. More. But never anywhere that would kill him. Not yet. It was just enough to paint the canvas red. If the pig could not be beautiful, his suffering will be.

The pig threw his arms up to shield himself, but the flesh of his hairy arms snagged against the slight bend of the claw's tips, taking the brief moment the weapon was stuck to him to stumble back onto his feet and attempt to throw his knee forward.

A sickening rip and a pained scream fell through the stage when Vega bent himself backwards in a dodge. The pig's arm was skinned! The force of Vega, and his claw, leaning back towards his heels ended up taking the pig's skin with him. When Vega stood straight again, it was with a laugh, which seldom drowned out the pig's cries... and the crowd's cheers.

Vega circled around the stage as he watched the pig clasp his other hand over his red, wet arm. He admired the work he did on his putrid flesh. Quite better than the original. When Vega was in front of the pig again, he extended a hand down to him. Not to help him up, of course.

"You insisted on preserving your 'pride' when you have nothing to be proud of." Vega began. "Your size means nothing. Your connections mean nothing. Whatever friends and whatever virtues you seem to think you have... it all means nothing.

A few minutes had passed, and the bloodied body of the pig was left crumpling on the stage, crying and squealing, oh, why him, what a bastard he was, how this must have been retribution, what Vega and whoever else wanted him to do for this pain to end. His cries became incoherent from the pain and the blood and tears running down his mangled face. He tried to beg forgiveness to whatever god was out there that deigned for him to suffer in this way.

But God grew tired of listening, and turned away from this wretch. And he wiped his claw with a cloth brought to him, before giving a final bow.

"Magnificent!" A guest cried as they applauded their host.

"Have you seen anything more spectacular?"

Laughter ensured at the pig's wails. Vega stepped down from the stage and passed his talons back to Alma in its box. The pig finished his part in this performance piece. Vega didn't care to see if he'd survive his bleeding any longer. He'll simply track him down and kill him later if he left here alive.

"That was splendid, Mr. Vega. Jackson Pollock couldn't have done any better." An impressed guest, one of the artists, congratulated. The artists and their patrons crowded around the stage as if it truly was a piece in an exhibition. Even the aloof one gazed at the pig and his blood splatter, a phone's camera directed his way. "If I knew _you_ would be making an incredible display here..." How depraved of her, and the rest, to pretend to understand the beauty of what he did... But as long as they had some appreciation, it was welcome.

And, she was so beautiful...

"Thank you, my dear." Vega purred.. "The party may expire soon. But you are welcome to stay, if you desire."

Of course she did.

"I'm honored."

Beauty was lost on most men. But Vega was not like them. And it was no surprise that women wanted his company even when he didn't seek it out.

Why did some women decide to stay with pigs, he did not know. He wouldn't be surprised if his earlier victim had some sort of wife from how standards seemed to be dropping these days. But he would be disgusted.

Walking with the woman out of the ballroom and to his private quarters, he passed a dimly lit hall branching off from the one he traveled down. His eyes gazed off to the darkness for a moment. They caught sight of a portrait. Of himself, of course, but in the shadows, his appearance better resembled a face he knew long ago. One that he tried not to be reminded of when he looked at a mirror, but one he could never face again.

 _Mother, why did_ you _marry_ _an_ _ugly pig?_

* * *

(A/N): i reworked this chapter! consider this a proper prelude to a future storyline im going to introduce!


	2. muñeca

Killer Bee was always a cut above the other dolls.

How long has it been since the Psycho Drive was destroyed? Three, four years? It supposedly freed the Dolls from Lord Bison's mind control, didn't it?

As much good as that did. The Dolls ultimately never escaped, stashed somewhere in some Shadaloo warehouse when they no longer amused Bison. A pity, that they were so beautiful, but could never be individuals of their own.

Try as they may.

Killer Bee, or rather 'Cammy' spent the first few years of her new life blissfully unaware that she was a little toy. Unaware of the hands of Shadaloo that created her to be the perfect assassin. Unaware of who exactly her savior was.

Well, that last part was something she still didn't know about, Vega supposed.

But oh, how she struggled and she suffered. Constantly torn between her past and the present. Vega found her hatred for him in particular amusing. It was unlikely she recalled her life serving under himself, Bison, and the other top enforcers of Shadaloo, so that couldn't be the source of her ire. Perhaps it was due to his allegiance with Shadaloo at all, despite his reputation among the ranks as a creature of whim and unpredictability. Indeed, he did not follow every letter of every command. He sometimes grew bored and even attacked the others of Shadaloo.

Just like when he questioned Bison's orders and openly defied him, the same night Bison died for the first time, that base was destroyed, and Cammy was freed.

Vega was to kill her before she could have that opportunity. But he hesitated. He knew the girl as one of the Doll guard meant to protect Bison, but he also knew they were mindless puppets. Vega was even asked to assist in their training one or two times, to demonstrate the caliber of agility and deadliness they were meant to have (too bad nobody could be as graceful as he.) Overall, he was hardly concerned with them. What did this particular little doll do to be sentenced to death? She was beautiful, but ultimately worthless. (And among all of this, he wondered why did he _care?_ )

It was when Vega asked Bison about the girl did his feelings on her change.

To kill the beautiful out of a twisted sense of self-interest is something he would never forgive anyone for. Bison was hideous to begin with, but the assassin had never gone out of his way to defy the dictator before. This was different. Killer Bee made it different. The girl for the first time felt the sense of freedom, just as the most beautiful of creatures deserved to have. And she was to die because of that? Because she might deviate from Bison's wishes? It was always the ugliest of men who tried to control the beautiful.

All those nights ago, Vega allowed her to free the other Dolls and confront Bison for herself. When the Psycho Drive was set to destroy itself and the base with it, Vega rescued the unconscious Cammy. It didn't matter who she was, what she was meant to be. She could be reborn. She could even be the one thing close enough to a worthy adversary. It was with this thinking, and when he delivered her to the doors of that thorn in Shadaloo's side, Delta Red, that he became her ghost.

Perhaps that, in the end, was what sparked that anger in Cammy when it came to Vega. He was always haunting her. Vexing her at every turn. Knowing so much but giving her so little. And surely the top assassin of Shadaloo would love nothing more than to toy with her then extinguish her life, didn't he?

It would pain him, in fact, to hurt her. Because of her beauty, Vega would always reason with himself. He ignored the possibility that it was anything else.

Vega traversed the dull halls of the Shadaloo base. It was so bleak to be in such places, but he was one of the Four Kings. And like much of his life, appearances needed to be kept. He had walked out of a meeting with his boorish 'equals', and now wandered the facility with the certain desire to stab something to death out of sheer frustration.

He came very close to murdering a lab technician when he walked in, but the scientists were smart enough to see what kind of mood their most unpredictable King was in, and flee. When they cleared the lab, Vega met with the sight of glass chambers. Rows of them, meant to house their test subjects, not unlike the kind that would have housed Killer Bee between her training and missions.

"Such ugly displays." Vega sighed to himself. That insufferable second-in-command would stuff the Dolls in these chambers to make them more and more into compliant machines. Would Shadaloo ever have enough with these girls, the blooming stages of their lives taken away from them?

Not that Vega cared enough about the girls to free them, of course. Besides... none of them were strong enough for that.

"Target acquired," a woman's voice sounded behind him, echoing through the lab. A British accent, soft yet tense, and so familiar. Why was she-

Vega turned, not to find Cammy, but instead a pink-haired girl in uniform, standing there with a triumphant grin but soulless eyes. Empty, robotic gazes that he came to hate about the Dolls.

"Enero." Vega scowled. The leader of the Dolls could mimic voices, to the point of throwing off anyone trying to listen to Shadaloo's communications. He found it regretful that she fought just like Killer Bee, and decided to replicate her voice to get his attention. Imitation could never be true beauty, no matter how hard you tried.

"I had you fooled~!" Enero gleefully teased, hands triumphant on each hip.

"Enero," Vega repeated, " _It's unwise to try and sneak up on me, my dear._ " He spoke to her in Spanish now. It was almost disorienting to see the girl standing before him with emotion and a custom uniform that she must have chosen, when years ago she did nothing but stand at attention and shout declarations, looking and behaving like the rest. Truth be told, Enero's refined yet headstrong demeanor saved her from Vega's disgust, compared to the other dolls who didn't excel as much as she did in developing their own personalities.

As a result, Enero was the only one in Shadaloo Vega could tolerate.

 _"My apologies. I was to give you your assignment, Lord Vega."_ Enero threw her hand up in a shrug.

Vega sneered at this. Sending a Doll, even if it was Enero, to order him? Bison was becoming more and more unbearably ugly. Once, the commander of Shadaloo gave Vega respect for his work. Now in recent times, he dared to send the Dolls on assassinations Vega ought to be carrying out with his superior skill, or appoint that insufferable "number two" as Vega's superior.

It couldn't be because of that... disagreement about Killer Bee all those years ago, could it?

 _"Bison can give me my prey himself. Leave me."_

Enero twirled one of her many thick ringlets around her finger, looking at Vega with no concern for his authority over her. As the one who commanded the rest of the Dolls, she had a bit of a problem with being commanded herself.

" _Lord Vega, why do you care about Killer Bee? She betrayed us."_ Enero suddenly asked, arms crossed and dropping all pretenses of regality she usually carried. Now, she looked like a brat.

" _Don't behave so childishly. I do not 'care' about her._ " Vega growled. " _You would be wise to leave my presence, my dear_." He spat out the endearment this time. Why did a toy think she was allowed to press him so? How dare she claim he cared about anyone, especially Cammy? That girl and her ridiculous pursuit of the truth and of justice? There wasn't any justice in the world except for what he inflicted! And why care about the truth when hers was one of pain? Why did she care to be good when it caused nothing but danger and disappointment? Why should _he_ care what she did? Why should he care? He shouldn't, so _why_ _did he?_

" _My apologies, Lord Vega."_ Enero eventually resigned after a bout of silence, leaving the lab and leaving Vega alone.

"Enero-" He called out quietly. The word barely escaped him. Perhaps it didn't actually escape him at all, only being said in his mind while his mouth parted in futile silence.

Just the same as the answers to those questions he asked himself, year after year.

Silent, just as dolls were.


	3. jaula

If there was one thing to dislike about bloodsports, besides the inherent messiness of the whole ordeal, it was that even those with experience tended to die off.

This fact was just now dawning on Taiga, or the Red Dragon, as he practically kicked a man's head clean off his shoulders. The cheers of the crowd surrounding the cage failed to drown out his own thoughts, leaving him to stew in his discontent as the hired goons removed the body from the presence of the towering man. Taiga appeared to be more of a titan out of myth than a man fighting for blood, standing at a height that dwarfed nearly everyone he met. And he had muscle to go with that stature. Hard, impressive mass in his limbs and abdomen, so tightly compressed together that one couldn't help but wait for it to tear through his dark hued skin, adding more scars to his collection. There was no gentleness in his face either. Befitting his profession, Taiga's face was all harsh angles, his cold eyes hidden behind a pair of red glasses stained redder by the blood of the defeated. His neck length hair was of similar coloration, slicked with the same crimson that was dripping from his bruised knuckles.  
 _I wonder what I should do when I return home..?_ He pondered silently, his boredom making the excited Spanish declarations of the announcer sound entirely muted to him. There wasn't much challenge in fighting men like this and the adrenaline of a crowd cheering his name had long lost it's appeal to Taiga. His raw strength made more legit venues more of the same. At least this crowd didn't mind the splatter. Even so, the boredom was beginning to eat at his soul. All he could do was hope his next opponent would last longer.

The Red Dragon currently in the pit wasn't the only favorite of the crowd, however. It was true that he dwarfed others in sheer strength and mass, and it was hard to match him in bloodlust. Hard, but not impossible. His next contender, a native to Spain, was a celebrity here in this underground bar... not that Taiga actually ever had the 'pleasure' of encountering him before.

The "Scarlet Terror" was something on the opposite side of the spectrum when compared to Taiga. The figure stood at 6'2", definitely making him taller than the average man, but putting him as a smaller contender in such 'business' as this. He was more agile and lithe than he was buff, but by no means was he scrawny. Approaching the lights, the crowd began cheering - and drunkenly so. Establishments like these, as if they werent illegal enough, were also places where illicit deals were struck from the seats of the audience, and enough alcohol was passed around to inebriate an elephant. Such was the pleasures of the kinds of people who found the sight of someone killing another entertaining.  
It was an establishment of no refinement, neither outside nor inside. He stared at the titan of a man through the skits of his white mask with utter contempt in his icey blue eyes. Had this been a good day for him, he might be compelled to soak in the excitement, removing his mask for his onlookers. Instead, he felt no need for show. There was only blood to spill now. The three-pronged steel claws glimmering from the vambrace on his hand seemed to cut through the air itself when he brought it in front of him, looking at the reflection of his eyes through them. So striking... it nearly haunted himself.

"Hey buddy." Taiga spoke. "Let's say we call this off. You look like the type of guy who'd rather be sipping wine in a boudoir. A boudoir, right?" Even with that claw, this guy seemed like he'd break in a single punch. He definitely worked out, but his frame was downright sinewy compared to his own. His skin lacked a single mark, unless one counted that violet serpent tattoo spanning his body. He kept his hair long too, gathered in a braid more befitting of a princess than a cage fighter. Although his visage was hidden, Taiga pinned the opponent as a very young man, who had too much time, money, and naïveté for his own good. Even his claw looked too ornate to fit in around here. Taiga was no stranger to blades being brought to a brawl, but it seldom helped the opponents.

This didn't stop the masked man from taking stage and gesturing for the cage to be lowered.

As dismissive as he appeared to be, Taiga slowly prepared himself to take whatever attacks his opponent would deal him. As if he instinctively knew he was on an entirely different level than his previous opponents. Starting off, the masked man had dived himself into a low sweep, aimed for the dragon's legs. Taiga was incredibly strong and quite durable but so very slow as well.

The only consolation Taiga had after completely failing to move was that his freakish sturdiness kept him on his feet. Still hurt like a bitch, though.

"Shit. Was really banking on you using those pretty knives." Taiga grunted with a grimace, his face tightening with pain as the faintest shadow of a bruise began forming on his leg. Vega's intention wasn't quite to knock Taiga down to begin with, but instead distract him. After the blow connected, Vega flipped from his position, in a backwards somersault. The possibility of his heel connecting with his chest or face would be an added bonus, along with his next plan of descending overhead the man after the peak of his jump, to slash away at the titan from above.

Taiga just barely managed to back away in time, a thin line of red appearing where Vega had grazed him on his chest. When the man had gone airborne, the titan reached up to bring him back down to earth. Taiga seized Vega's wrists just as he began to swing them apart in a slashing motion, and slammed him into the ground.

Or so, Taiga hoped.

Vega's wrists were seized just when his hands would have reached the same elevation of Taiga's head. His arms were left immobile in his hold. From then on, it would have been easy for his opponent to toss him away or smash him into the ground, unless Vega reacted with a hold of his own. Using Taiga's own pin on his wrists as leverage, Vega swung the rest of his body so that he was upright, his legs moving to capture Taiga's neck in a hold between them.

For Taiga, however, this was a moment where raw strength triumphed over superior technique. Taiga tightly dug his fingers into Vega's leg and into his side, beginning to pry the leg away from his neck. All the while the giant of a man couldn't help but grin up at Vega.

"Y'know, most of the guys here don't go for a move that flashy on the first fight." He joked. In the process of Vega's hold being broken, Vega relied on gravity once more as he threw himself back, almost as if he were attempting a frankensteiner, Taiga thought. But it looked like his masked opponent's biggest priority was to just get away. He frowned at this. "I sense a bit of hostility there, pal." Taiga scoffed as he scratched the back of his head. "Just trying to break the ice, y'know? My name's Taiga."

Vega found these attempts deplorable.

How could such ilk not understand that the only thing Vega wanted to do with him was to see him die violently, impaled on his blades? Being sorely disappointed was the most tame way to describe how the masked man was feeling about his competitor. Even as horrendously crude the Red Dragon was, it would have given Vega pleasure to slay the beast. _'I'll just kill him now. There needs to be blood on my claws._ ' He thought. This too could not be realized, however, upon one of the spectators climbing on top of the wall separating the audience from the pit, standing there with a giggle.

"What bloodlust I sense... It's quite appetizing." She remarked, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. The woman looked on with a face of confidence.

"You figure she's drunk?" Taiga asked off to the side, wondering why a spectator was so bold as to approach the two killers.

Vega still refused to say anything. This woman was beautiful, but he knew that there was cruelty in her eyes. Intoxicated? No. It was she who intoxicated others.

A sudden swarm of bats enveloped the woman, moving from head to toe and revealing her true form along the way - that of an incredibly beautiful and curvaceous woman with minty green hair, a leather corset, and purple bat-patterned tights. Her transformation came with the drunken wonder of the crowd, though it seemed that they would simply pass out and forget about the supernatural experience. The strange creature flew near them with her bat wings, continuing to stroke her hand through her hair. "But do not worry. Your ends will be as pleasurable for you as it will be for me." She smiled.

She threw back her fists then slung them forward, a ball of energy coming their way, not unlike the _ki_ channeled from those Shotokan karate types that Bison insisted on tracking down...

This woman was no mere martial artist of course.

"Get down!" Taiga yelled, tackling Vega to the ground with speed all but impossible for a man of his size, and much unlike the slow speed he displayed before. Once he protected his former opponent, Taiga glared up at the woman and charged towards her with his arms spread wide.

"You deplorable-" Vega had begun to say to the Red Dragon for _daring_ to touch him, when he glanced up and assessed the new attacker once more. Rising to his feet, he watched Taiga charge for the woman, only for her to move into the air again with her wings, landing on the other side of the man, all with a laugh coming from her.

Vega approached the mysterious woman and gave a bow before her, much more courteous to her than his previous opponent. He didn't know what she was, but blood would serve to be an excellent beauty treatment.

"What a sudden gentlemanly exterior." She commented, amused. "But, nevertheless, I'm sure at least one of you will be a delicious snack." Her wings shapeshifted into pointed tendrils, the arrowheads coming for both men simultaneously.

Taiga instinctively reached out, having faced vaguely similar circumstances before. Granted, those had been chains rather than some kind of demon mutant wings but he doubted the idea was much different. Not really thinking about what'd happen if he failed, he grabbed the tendril coming for him. Depending on how slippery the tendrils were, they'd slide through his hand and pierce his arm before he'd make his next move. In that case he was hoping his muscle would keep it from immediately going all the way through. As fast as he could, the titan wrapped the tendril around his arm and pulled with all his strength.

The masked man, meanwhile, deftly flipped backwards, landing on his feet in complete balance and escaping the range of the tendrils. Evasion was a skilled tactic of his, and he was able to counter with his own long range as well. When Taiga caught the woman's tendril, her smaller frame was reeled in. However, the rest of her limbs were still free, and she had aimed an upward swing of her leg towards Taiga.

Taiga wasn't quite sure how strong this demoness was. Sure, she was pulled towards him quite easily but for all he knew she could have let that happen to catch him off guard. Thus he intended to simply block to try and get a base measurement for her physical power, at least he did until he noticed Vega lunging for her. Although he still considered him an enemy, Taiga considered this monster an even greater one. His free hand shot out and reached for her ankle as it neared him. At the very least, it would give Vega even more time to attack her while she was preoccupied. Vega's claws were able to rip into the skin of the woman's back, but Taiga spotted not a single flinch on the woman's face. If anything, she looked pleased to be caught between the two.

"This is why I love the human world. Mankind can be so crafty... You always see something new. Not like the stagnant and stubborn Makai." She remarked. Her lips further curled into a smile. "As much as I like this threesome, let's see how the two of you deal with this." The succubus flashed in mystic light and seemed to split into two, as a copy of herself appeared behind Taiga and dared to send another ball of energy his way, essentially pinning him down until he were to do something quick about the original already in front of him.

"Why do I always meet the crazies?" Taiga growled, tightening his grip on the woman's leg. The titan was of course aware of the fact that, as a cage fighter, he really couldn't complain about the mental states of his opponents. Letting out a surprisingly feral roar, he swung the monster around with all his might, flinging her at the sphere of energy. She was met with genuine surprise upon being knocked back into her own mirage's attack, the two demons (or one) being knocked back across the pit, the pairs merging back into one form.

Vega's eyes roamed across the splatters of her blood finally present on his claws. The sight was inviting, but her blood was... It seemed repulsive. How could that be, coming from such a beautiful vessel?

The masked fighter was not superstitious, but perhaps he couldn't care for that anyway. Gods and devils and their machinations could not trouble him, as long as there was still beauty. He flicked his steel talons, and the blood splashed onto the ground.

The creature, whatever she was, looked entirely offended.

"Oh, I thought you were a gentleman. You won't enjoy such a fine wine?" She scoffed, slowly rising to her feet and flicking her hand through her locks. Taiga approached in case she tried something new, but she tutted. "No, no, handsome. This was oh-so-amusing to me, but I don't think I should bother... Humans might be more interesting, but they're too uncivilized to know how to treat a lady."

"I really don't know if you're some kind of performer but, geez, I'm really meeting the rude fighters today." Taiga grunted, rubbing the back of his head again. "What did you do that offended her so much, bud?" He asked, looking at Vega.

Vega didn't know why he bothered explaining. One as crude as he would not understand true beauty. Still, he answered. "Her blood," Vega began, "is too vile for my taste. What use is her beauty when her fighting - her strength, her _suffering -_ could never be exquisite?"

Taiga was quick to pin him as a nutcase. But he could see what he meant.

While she proved to be fun, what would be the point of fighting someone if they could not provide any sort of release for you? Taiga thought he wanted a fighter who could survive the deadliest of blows, but as powerful as she was, the fight was becoming meaningless because she was just so... _bored._ As bored as he was. There couldn't be a real spark from this match.

Supernatural or not, she didn't provide either of them what they truly wanted.

The woman graced a final smile on her features.

"I thought my beauty bested brains and brawn. I seldom meet mortal men who free themselves from my cage. You're both interesting after all." A cloud of bats surrounded her form as she appeared to phase into the ground. "I'll let you go, little pets. Until we meet again..." Her melodic voice echoed.

Their entire surroundings seemed to break apart at the seems, until...

Taiga, the Red Dragon, stood in an typical fight club bar somewhere in America, feeling as if he just jolted awake. In here, he defeated eleven consecutive opponents in a row. It was understandable that he'd get tired, but... how did he doze off right here? He felt like he was just in a damn good fight, but... He was already done. All of his opponents were trying to nurse their wounds, or were carted away. If they were down for the count, and he had no injuries, then he couldn't have been in an interesting match.

He wondered what he should do when he got home.

Meanwhile, in a mansion in Barcelona, Vega awoke among a net of red silk sheets that were tangled around his form that was, regrettably, sweating, from whatever night terrors he must have experienced... but forgotten. He remembered blood, but that was all he remembered these days. Fighting against the ugly, and sometimes the beautiful. But no matter the owner, the blood was always a brilliant, inviting sight. Wasn't it?

He looked down at the red sea surrounding him, and gave a growl.

He felt, somehow, that wasn't the case anymore.


	4. cautiverio de sangre

Vega has thought about the possibility of becoming a father.

His age of 24 meant that he was curious about his future path, while at the same time having the luxury to ignore whatever approaching expectations a subpar society could have for him. In his most simple assessments, Vega would welcome anything as long as his beauty survives.

But there were some things he could not deny. He detested children.

Children, according to Vega, insulted the senses. Their ugly crudeness and their overwhelming sincerity disturbed him. The thought of having to raise a baby and hear a hideous cry that ruined his beauty sleep? That baby becoming a young child with no sense of intelligence nor elegance, unaware of the chaos it created? Then, that child becoming a tasteless, rebellious teenager? Why, only a fool would willingly sacrifice their own lives for such an insulting presence!

And yet, Vega began to wonder if a life could be brought to the world without ever knowing ugliness. If such a thing could be possible, and a pursuit worthy of him. He pondered over this for a while, his thoughts occasionally going back to the idea of guiding a child of his own to become the most beautiful as he spent his days. Then, Vega would feel threatened at the idea. Nothing could ever compare to himself! It would be an insult to see a better version of himself in his own home! He once before considered replicating his own body... but for his own benefit. That was much more different from parents living vicariously through their young. They were trying to battle the feeling of failing their own lives. Vega, on the other hand, needed his beauty to live on forever. But Shadaloo practices, as useful and streamlined as they were, lacked a certain dignity and elegance. Fathering something, at times, sounded more interesting... if not due to some sort of pride he felt from the idea of spreading his good genes. But, simply fathering a child, and raising one with the intent to surpass any notion of ugliness that society held, were two different things.

Vega did not celebrate his beauty without expecting others to worship his looks in a much more intimate way. As such, he's had many past lovers he found to be worthy enough... which were easy to attract when you yourself were the pinnacle of beauty, and not to mention well-known in many respects. It was entirely possible he had children. It was quite irresponsible to have any that you did not know of, but it was not a burden his attention was ever brought to. And he wasn't confident that he'd feel any attachment to anything unintentionally made in the throes of passion anyway.

Vega sighed, closing a book that he ceased reading for a while and placing it on a table near the seat he rested on. He was thinking on this for quite a while, it seemed. The light that poured from the open window in front of him has since shifted across his study, away from himself. His gaze shot down his lawn outside from his second-story, then over the wall separating his estate from a sparsely used lane lined with trees that only a few walked on if they were feeling bold enough to come near his property. He would indulge them sometimes with a wave and a greeting if they were beautiful. And he was sure that women who came near did so in the hopes to see him, whether he was resting at the patio or just in sight behind a window. It was the kind of fantasy a stranger would have.  
Nobody was out today.

Could this be simple? Could any of this ever be simple? Many were willing to start a family with him, so that was not an anxiety he had. Instead, Vega found himself wondering if he really should. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him, of course, so anyone raised under him would never suffer anything. The notion just seemed useless, was all. People had families for power in the end. A selfish need to have control over others who could have no say. A pecking order that would denote the man of the home as the strongest, no matter how beautiful or ugly he actually was. The fact that ugly men were lauded as the most powerful and most worthy of respect by society just for having sex with a woman and having children with her...

Or, just by marrying a woman and suddenly being the master of her life and any life she brought to the world...

Vega slammed the window shut. The sun became lacking anyway.

If he were to have a wife, who would it be? He thought of the most beautiful women he knew, then laughed to himself. Chun-Li cared for the young and the weak to a flaw. She put others above herself. That would make her a good mother. Her elegance, sweetness, and maturity with a girlish streak coupled with her strength made her perhaps the most desirable woman to capture. Yet, Vega could not feel any romantic attachment to her. It was almost as if she was too good. An image of perfection that only succeeds to threaten his own. Her annoyingly strong sense of justice at least came with the penchant to lose control of rationality, which was certainly fun to tease. But nothing more.

Killer Bee was much more easy to confound, but her naivety could only be toyed with for so long until Vega felt pained. He never felt guilty over it of course; he's done nothing wrong in his life. Still, he couldn't stay in her presence for long before wanting to flee, to escape the strange sensations she casted upon him. She, admirably, was a fierce protector of what she believed in, but it was ultimately something too dangerous and useless. She could never be convinced to turn her heart to anything he might want. And, if there was anyone who family confused the most, it was Cammy. There was absolutely nothing they could share, even if he wanted to. She was best left for Vega to watch, and nothing more.

Juri intrigued and irritated him all at once, her dark brand of beauty being such a fresh chaotic force in the face of the more elegant, natural, or gentle beauty many other women displayed. He normally preferred the latter, but he then found himself irresistibly drawn to the former. He was genuinely captivated by her beauty and strength. Her bloodthirsty proclivities called to mind his own. She was harsh. Too harsh. Such passion drove him wild, and that's why she was the worst to encounter. He wanted so badly to slice her to ribbons whenever he heard her provocations! Such a woman was amazing in many ways, but could never be the type to wed.

There was certainly more women than that, but he ceased entertaining the thought. It was too ridiculous, he admitted. This was something that pathetic, lonely men who could not create their own beauty and pride did with their time. Puzzle over women they could not admit would never be in their reach. Vega at least would not become frustrated over it as they did.

If there was a man worthy enough of Vega, he was certainly interested in meeting him! Ha, perhaps he wouldn't have to worry about mistakenly fathering or committing to anything at all if he had a man to claim!

Men were more dangerous creatures, and seldom as beautiful or sensible as women. But when they interested him, he wanted to take them, or even be tamed by them. He rejected anything that an ugly, power-obsessed society would say, so an objection to such a coupling meant nothing to him. Why, if most men weren't so hideous he might have one to court already. Perhaps a man who would be interested in Vega wouldn't be a man who would threaten everything with ugliness. A man like that wouldn't be fixated on the power he thought he should have, but never deserved.

Maybe Vega should have a family after all. _He_ would be the only man in the world who deserved the respect that came from becoming a father. But such a grab for power would be very unbecoming of him. It was too ugly of a scheme. At the very least though... he was certain he would not put a spouse or their children under pain, much unlike a certain man he knew.

Vega scowled again. This was what happened when you tried to think of anything, _anything_ in earnest. He should just leave the topic altogether and focus on what he knew now. That he was strong, that he was beautiful, that he certainly deserved to live forever, and he didn't need a legacy to fulfill that if he could uncover Shadaloo's processes. He picked up his book once more to part open the pages with a sigh. Where was he?

A servant let their presence be known with a gentle knock on the already opened mahogany door, a tray of red wine balanced upon their hand and making its way to the master of the house. Vega gently took the wine and mulled over the taste. He enjoyed it best when it reminded him of blood.

Blood, also, did not need to become bonds in order to sate him. A good hunting did always clear his mind.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter will be the beginning of a story line! ill probably still be writing drabbles in between though!


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